The Sound Barrier
by Aki The Crane
Summary: "I want to play a Game." That's how it all started, another serial killer on the loose in the streets of Gotham... but what is their side of things? Where did it really start; and how far is it going to go on? OC Based / Crane. ( Currently being revised. )
1. Prolouge

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman nor Detective Comics, Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, nor The Dark Knight Rises. This is a fan fiction and in no way represents the opinion or views of Warner Brothers, Paramount Studios, Detective Comics, or any other Batman related Media. I do not receive compensation for this work of fan fiction.**

- The Sound Barrier -

- Prologue -

_"I want to play a game."_

A simple statement was scribbled onto an otherwise blank sheet of once crumpled, blood stained, paper. It was currently being mulled over by commissioner Gordon of the Gotham City police department. The man sighed and set the plastic bag that held the note down onto his wooden desk. His work wrinkled blue eyes scanned the room before he reached for the plastic bag again; but instead he took hold of the off white coffee mug handle near it, "This is completely insane." He voiced to an empty dim-lit office and jumped a little when he got a reply from the open window behind him.

"And disturbing." It was a rough, gravelly voice and Gordon knew exactly to whom it belonged to; the one and only Dark Knight of Gotham, Batman.

He didn't turn however and just set down his mug of untouched cooling coffee, "You're going to give me a heart attack one day." Both of his hands now rested on the desk before him, the bloody note between his hands, "What a sick way to go. Being locked up with no way out as some sick-o taunts you."

The night before the Gotham City Police Department had responded to a suspicious person report down near the warehouse unloading docks. At first it was just one guy in a squad car hoping it to be a vagrent seeking shelter for the night. What they had found, however, was a door bolted from the inside and a terrible machine like grinding sound echoing outwards. Back-up was called. When they got that bolted door pryed open an officer was shot in the head from a triggered revolver. Next as they continued a room with nothing but ashes, on the door it had read in red paint "Pray to the Heavens Hell won't incinerate your soul." There was no body however, nothing to find at all. The machine like sound was coming from this room as two iron gears twisted against eachother, one had lost most of its pegs, continusly trying to slide another heavy looking door shut. The door at the other side of the room was being held open by a slightly burned and melted metallic pipe shoved long-ways between the door and its frame. As the squad moved forward another officer was caught by razor wire, his neck being sliced open and he bleed out far too much. The man died on the way to the hospital. The bomb squad and the SWAT were called in at this point to take over the opperations.

Once they navigated they're way through various other rooms to the last however, it made even some of the harden men sick to their stomachs.

A once blonde haired, blue eyed, football all-star for Gotham University was stuck half way between the exiting door and about twenty other various rusted sharp objects acting as blades. As soon as they found the room a police officer tripped the rope to play a tape that was right above the door. The voice coming from it was distorted and sounded male in nature, "Congratulations. You've made it to the exit Jimmy…" These false walls began to move backwards ripping the boys body apart, once they were against the walls a click rang out and they fell flat. The tape had a glitch and started over again just as two members of the squad went in to get the body out. One walking out with a note from the bloody floor just in time before the door shut on its own. Locking.

"Congratulations. You've made it to the exit Jimmy… but there's one more thing. Out of all those keys you collected so far, none of them will get you outside. The only way out is through an actual door."

A mechanical clicking sound sounded off before the blades showed themselves from the walls again and they were moving closer to the policeman, creeping close every second. He had no keys with him like the tape said and panicked. His first reaction was to reach the other side of the room to pull on the door's handle opening it… only to find a brick wall with many a photo on it of some guy and a red headed woman. He rushed back over to the side of the room he entered from with only a few feet of room left before the blades impaled him. With only centimeters in space left the contraption shut down and the door unlocked itself. Batman had found the power switch just in time and got the officer out of harms way.

The dark knight had been following the police officers, he had noticed a few things they had not apparently. The metallic pipe had etching on it that said "A holy gift." The Razor wire had a switch to release it from the walls if one were to look up at the ceiling, and there was another note on the walls that read, "Man's so called gift to the world is not life itself but what controls our lives. Will Power." It lead him to find the power switch for the next room eventually and the correct exit that was hidden behind a fake looking wall.

When Gordon opened his eyes after shaking his head to force the memory to fade away, the evidence… and Batman were gone.

**Attention! The Sound Barrier is starting to under go major revisions, while the core of the story will be remaining a lot will be changing! That means all chapters are being taken down and rewritten. I want thank everyone that reviewed on this story and gave me fed back to help me finish and better this story. Now, however, comes the time to revise and fix a fair portion of the plot holes.**


	2. Chapter One

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman nor Detective Comics, Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, nor The Dark Knight Rises. This is a fan fiction and in no way represents the opinion or views of Warner Brothers, Paramount Studios, Detective Comics, or any other Batman related Media. I do not receive compensation for this work of fan fiction. I do claim rights to the my own character concepts and they have not been intentionally made to resemble other's characters.**

- The Sound Barrier -

- Chapter One: Stereotypical -

Red goop slithered down locks of brown, now cherry smelling hair, it dropped in chunks onto the young woman's face and down her back. Rolling off the fabric and plopping on the ground with a sick splatter the woman's deep blue eyes followed it down as it pooled around her sneakers. The diner was silent for what felt like a very long full minute, this girl had even ended up counting the seconds to try and think of something other then the fact that she might be turning brilliant crimson in embarrassment. Once again, she would end up as a brutal joke; she heard cameras clicking from cell phones. _The Jell-o Girl_. After that minute was up, perhaps a little bit after that minute the room went from snickers to bubbling bursts of howling laughter from other students, even the staff couldn't help but chuckle as they told those making the scene to _kindly_ leave.

The young woman snapped from her daze when the door chime jingled as a result some of the jell-o and whipped cream leaked past her hair and into her left eye. It stung. Tossing a crumpled ten dollar bill for her half eaten food from the table she'd been at, at the nearest waiter Catherine took off from the diner. Furiously swatting at her hair trying to get the sticky substance out she blindly stalked after the person whom shoved the bowl on top her head in the first place yelling, "Hey! Hey ass-hole get back here! Jennifer!" The other woman in question started running when she heard the angry shouts of Catherine. The angry jell-o girl gave chase.

She could have suspected that it was because she was not originally from Gotham, but Metropolis, she might have supposed it was just her tough luck, but she recognized that this was a particular person's fault... the bane of her collage existence; Cindy and her pack.

A clique was made up of pack animals and when a pack animal was alone it could be picked off. In this case it was the beautiful and powerfully rich animals, and Jennifer was a bombshell blonde yet not particularly bright. During school in Metropolis the two girls were friends, but as they grew older they grew apart because of the culture high school brought. Catherine had been stupid to think the woman would want to rekindle their friendship and had been fooled into this diner disaster. It had Cindy's name written all over it, not only did she have it out for Catherine for the last two years, but it was her style of initiation test. She was catching up to the blonde as they rounded a corner Jennifer jumped into the back of a shiny chrome pick up, "Later!" The bitch blew Catherine a kiss as the engine revved before leaving Catherine in the dust. She glared at the back end of the vehicle as it rolled down the street and flipped off the air after they turned a corner out of sight; the plate had belonged to James Thomson. He'd been clever and had it say F0T-BA1 trying to make it sound or look like football - as football itself was already taken by someone else in the city's registration. James, or Jimmy, was Cindy's current boy-toy.

She stomped her foot down upon the payment in frustration. Belittling herself for being so stupid again; this was her third year in college, she should have been much smarter than this. Cindy Crawford and Catherine Noir first met during their second year of college; technically it was Cindy's third year, but she had dropped out and came back the following year as a sophomore. The two girls were both in one of the mandatory mathematics classes, working on their midterms. Cindy had picked on Cat the typical nerd girl every so often, but when she asked for Catherine's help the younger woman gave her the completely wrong notes. She'd done it on purpose, of course, figuring Cindy would get the idea and leave her alone. Yet Cindy was idiotic enough to use the notes like a cheat sheet! Not only did she get dropped from the class for cheating she was humiliated for using the wrong notes in the first place. Since that day Cindy has made it into a personal vendetta to get back at Catherine using her influenced popularity as leverage.

Catherine kicked at the concrete again before stalking off back towards the campus intent on getting the cherry jell-o smell from the slightly sticky hair. The diner had been fairly local to the schools main building and as it was still early in the afternoon she could go to a seminar for her Nineteenth to Modern American History class given by a former student who had apparently gone on to be a big hotshot on the history channel. It had not been a mandatory thing to go to, but could help her with the upcoming essay about the Airplane. Thus after occupying the local ladies room and washing her hair out in the sink, Catherine went to the lecture hall.

As the day dragged on into the later portion of the afternoon Catherine had filled a small notebook with anything that could help her on the essay, history was not her preferred field and she'd forgotten what had made her so enthusiastic about taking it in the first place. Once the long winded former student was finished talking people filed out of the lecture hall in two kinds: Groggy or Excited. And there was less of the latter. Quietly she gathered up her notebook, stuffing the black and white composition into the Linshi tasks bag, then hosting its one strap over her head so it would rest across her chest. The woman listened to the excited chatter of two freshmen boys, with far more nerd-look complex than she had, about the lecture as they walked down the same hallway.

"... I found his generalized topic on the civil war far too vague, it could have included more about The Union North rather than just slavery." He made quotation marks to emphasize the last two words trying to mock the actions of the man who gave the seminar.

"However, I think he made up for that by expressing it was also one of the first true industrial wars with railroads, the telegraph, and steamships. Along with mass production of weaponry that foreshadowed how we would later on fight in world war one." They seemed to both agree and moved onto the assassination of Lincoln as they turned to go out one of the exits.

"I wish it had more about airplanes..." Catherine muttered under her breath as she walked past the door. There had been hardly anything on the flying contraptions as the main point seemed to be about the wars that had taken place. War was, of course, important to history and often said that the victor was the one who wrote it. It shaped human history drastically throughout all time periods; not just large scale wars, but also companies who were competing and even rival sports teams. And Catherine knew this fact well. Warfare could be held on all battle grounds and for every reason including resources, knowledge, faith, love... revenge. Ideals of these are commonly thought of as peaceful with reasonable solutions but all war is inevitably violent. She continued down the hallway to the door at the end leading outside, it was the quickest way to the bus stop. Checking a slim black watch upon her wrist, noting the time to be four fifty in the afternoon; she could catch the five o'clock bus to Chinatown near the narrows for her shift at five thirty still. Originally Catherine didn't think that the session would be so long and drug out like it had been and she'd considered leaving a few times when the hands of her watch started to tick past four. Yet the young woman had clung to the hope he'd mention more about flying machines if she just stayed a little bit longer. He had mentioned the Hindenburg disaster of 1937 but that was a blimp and merely glossed over of the first aerial dog fights because they were a key factor in how it also revolutionized modern warfare.

Tossing herself on the bench near a blue bus sign she thought of all the better ways she could have spent the last few hours. Ripping out the mans eyeballs for example, maybe gluing them to his lecture notes as well. Not once had the man looked up from his notes nor answered questions. This is your typical nerd girl with a dirty habit of mental violence towards others. She huffed letting it out in an exasperated sigh. Catherine envisioned taking one of those plastic fast food sporks and spooning out the dull browns like ju-ju beans while he screamed in agony. Of course Catherine would never act upon these horrific thoughts as they were just a way of stress release from the days frustration. The woman giggled to herself yet clapped a hand over her mouth when a couple walked by her on the sidewalk. The bus soon rolled down the street puffing out a bit of black smog from its tail pipe that wafted upwards and when it stopped at the bench it gave another belch of smog. The Gotham trains were a much cleaner solution and free transport, but they were also on towering monorails. This did not appeal to Catherine for several reasons. Like, what if it got stuck? Or, what if she got mugged with no escape? These could happen on a bus too yet she felt better about being on the ground with less reinforced glass between her and a way out. Quietly she dug around in her front pocket for some quarters pouring them into the funnel as she got onto the bus, she heard change being dropped into the funnel as she stepped forward wondering if someone had been standing by her the whole time whilst she thought of wicked things and she just hand't noticed or if they'd come running up at the last second. If she had betting money it would be on the latter. Eager to get out of the way she turned and plopped down ungracefully into the nearest front seat, her dark blues stole a glance at the person who'd been behind her. It was mister history channel hotshot. He didn't look her way but sat down somewhere behind her near the middle of the bus... apparently not enough of a big deal to own a car. She snorted getting a whiff of the sweet black exhaust as they pulled out of the stop.

The ride itself had been extremely unpleasant. A mother and her babe ended up sitting across from Catherine and a very sweaty, smelly man sat close enough to make her nose wrinkle. The babe cried almost non-stop with every pot hole making it that much more upset and she had to sit through an extra twenty minutes of this because the driver - who was new - took a wrong turn getting them stuck in a heavy flow of rush hour traffic. Nevertheless, freedom came at last when the dangling red and orange lanterns came into view the bus coming to a squeaky halt at the quaint red painted gateway that read in Chinese "Chinatown." The blast of sweet breads and sizzling pork was a relief to the stench in that rolling metal death trap and she breathed it in greedily.

The shop owner lived above his store on the second level, so no escaping the fact that she was ten minutes late with _"I was here the whole time." _Mister Long was a nice old man, fair in every way, but that could sometimes be a pain because even a few minutes late meant he was counting the pennies he was saving. In no time, however, she was at the counter ready to watch kids point at the swords in the cases or flip through the karma sutra book for its sexually suggestive pictures. While the shoppe itself was an antique store they sold other stereotypical Chinese goods, like fans and lucky charms for cell phones. She poked at the little jade charm in front of her watching it wiggle back and forth before going over the notes from the seminar and doing some research in a text book for computer sciences. Not long after Catherine had begun her shift did the Long's daughter Mai come home from school. The fourteen year old had scurried up the stairs to change, excited to work in the store with the older woman. She wondered, on occasion, if Mai actually had friends outside of the people she talked about at the middle school. The little girl would come rushing home from school everyday Catherine worked - she wouldn't have been surprised if Mai came rushing home every day in general - whoosing in through the back door with a slam and a quick lock of the dead bolt like she was being chased by the devil himself. Catherine would hear her call out that she was home and the pitter patter of her small feet, jogging up the wooden steps down the hall in the back of the store to reach the second floor. Five to ten minutes later the girl would be changed into something brightly colored and comfortable running back down the steps and attacking Catherine with a _squee-hug_.

Around eight at night, about an hour before closing time, Mai had brought up another of her dark interesting subjects, "Have you ever hated someone... so much that you wish they die?" Her heavy Asian accent still very apparent in her voice despite living in the United States for two years.

At the time Catherine was standing on the top step of a ladder that rested on one of the taller bookshelves, her arm was reaching out to place an older Chinese text book about One hundred and One ways to make a Dumpling on the stand at the very top, "That's a horrible thing for someone your age to be thinking about." She chided the younger girl knowing that she thought about it all the time with people she hardly knew.

Once the book was seated in place she looked down the ladder to the bottom, Mai was staring up at Catherine. The dim lighting making her look like something from a foreign horror film, "I'm serious," her voice had gotten a little harsher, "There's a kid in my Math. He put rat in my lunch box today," Both of the girls stayed silent for a moment before Mai placed her dainty hand on the bottom of the ladder, suddenly giving it a rough push. Catherine jumped and rolled before she could topple down with the ladder which had fallen on to a glass case. The glass didn't shatter thankfully but a nice crack now splintered through the top of it, "Do you hate me?" Mai's voice had grown soft and her chocolate brown eyes welled with tears.

The older woman blinked and moved the ladder off to the side. Mai had a history of doing odd things like this to others at what seemed like random. Her troubled past is even what had brought the Long family to the United States in the first place two years ago. Catherine had been working here for a little less than a year and was told after the first incident she had with Mai's behavior. The child had stuck a pen in right through a good chunk of her college mathematics book; missing the woman's hand. "No, you're still my favorite Mai-Little-Long," She cooed the nick-name as the ladder was pushed back into its normal spot in the corner where the broom and dust pan sat as well. Giving a huff the woman turned around making a puffy face and turned her head off to the side while speaking in an overly dramatic pouty tone, "I had jell-o dumped on my head today in Sam's Diner by some mean girl," She paused and drifted the dark blue eyes back towards Mai then turned her head to face the girl and crossed them before pushing at her puffy cheeks with her forefingers causing the young girl to giggle; then in a more serious tone she leaned over and patted the child's head, "I was upset... but I don't hate them." Lying through her teeth like every other adult.

For the rest of the evening they played Chinese checkers at the front desk, Mai winning every round, and when nine thirty came around they parted ways. Mai locked the wooden door as Catherine waved through a window, making silly faces causing the young girl to giggle and hold up a hand in front of her face. Even at night the area was bright enough to see normally with a low crimson glow from the lanterns yet to be turned off. Most of the stores were still open for business, like restaurants and that strange dance arcade at the end of the road along with the vendors that lined the middle of the cracked street; they wouldn't close till about one am. A car actually could not drive through the area as it was too big to fit in the space left, but that did not stop motorbikes from dangerously whizzing by. Most of the people who owned vehicles and lived on this street stored them in the parking garage across the way from the bus station; however, the two roads parallel to this one were left open for emergency vehicles. Casually Catherine had walked over to one of the vendors - mostly following her nose - the smell of delicious food attracting her stomach, which took over a good portion of her brain functioning. It was one that had wooden bar stools with small backs lined up in front of it for people to sit and eat if they so chose to and she plopped in one second to the last, looking over at another man whom had also sat and was eating what looked like fried squid. He glanced at her, but continued eating in silence. "Jackie," she called out gaining the attention of the chef behind the counter; he was an older man and wore a big grin on his face causing all the wrinkles to srunch in a comical way. She wasn't sure why yet just about every male vendor in Chinatown had told her to call them Jackie, like Jackie Chan, it almost seemed racist but if they liked it who was she to care, "yīgè tiánměi de zhūròu wǎn jiān jīdàn ba." Catherine still had that Yorker-like accent, but her Chinese was fairly fluent as she'd been learning from Mai and Mis'ess Long from day one of working in the antique shop.

"Ya." He replied back with a thick accent of his own and set about frying up chopped pork and drowning it in a sweet red sauce. She watched as he chopped up fresh vegetables with a large knife like a professional in speed and accuracy, he added noodles at just the right time to boiling water and dropped an egg in a pan to fry it up near the end. All of this got tossed into a bowl with a perfectly round sunny egg placed on top. He slid the bowl across the counter and she took it with care by the top rim with her finger tips as the bottom was blazing hot while the rim was just starting to get warm then placed it in front of herself and grabbed a pair of disposable chopsticks from a nearby cup full of paper packaged ones.

"Xièxiè." She thanked him before plucking out a piece of pork and almost swallowing it whole. The sweet flavor danced in her mouth like a tiny parade and the hint of spice like popping fireworks upon her tongue. And then the burn of the heat temperature wise hit her and she coughed but continued eating; only slower. Checking her thin wrist watch every so often for the time she sighed when she realized the last bus to where she lived left ten minutes ago, the train home it was.

The narrows was a filthy place to live and she thanked her lucky stars that she'd applied for several small grants from Gotham University. It was enough money to put her between the rat infested slums and Gotham's inner city. She lived on 12th Street, which was three blocks from the infamous Park Row - or Crime Alley - where the unofficial border of the narrows started and the Wayne's had been gunned down, and four blocks from the main campus. Chinatown was mostly on the unofficial side of Gotham's better neighborhood, only a two or three streets in the narrows were considered a part of it. Easily Catherine could have walked the way to her home, but that was possibly a more idiotic idea than taking the monorail train. Waiting around for the train at the tall iron station she could have been mugged, walking home a few blocks she could have been mugged, Gotham City... she could have been mugged. It all probably didn't matter what choice she made in this rut hell hole enviably she'd be stolen from. _What a depressing thought_. Catherine sighed and with dull eyes watched for the train. She'd take the train to the last stop before it would cross over into the slums and every time Catherine would become a bit paranoid some psycho homeless man would put her at gunpoint and demand her wallet and things. Dying late at night in Gotham was a pretty rational fear with percentages backing it. As her feet pounded against the sidewalk in a mid-jog to reach 12th street; only one street from where the train left off, her heart pounded in her ears when a cat knocked over a trash can and chased a rat down the road. When her building came into view she sped up her brisk pace while shoving a hand in her jean pocket for her apartment's key. A loud rumble overhead told her legs to break out into a full run and she made it inside the towering apartment building just as rain poured down mercilessly upon Gotham. _Why did it have to rain so much in Gotham?_ Numbly; as the surge of adrenaline had stopped, the woman wandered up the staircase after seeing the elevator was out of service, again, and she counted the steps. Twenty four, then the broken one, thirty six more steps, including platforms to hallways two and three. On the third floor, she went down the hall. There were only two doors on each side of the hallway as the rest of the third floor was a roof like patio that held dirt and a community garden. She went towards the second door on the right side and blindly grasped for the knob, only the knob had been misplaced. With a furrowed brow, her dark blue eyes snapped to the spot where the doorknob should have been; the puke green door was splintered and had been broken down while the brass lock lay busted into three parts upon the floor. Cautiously Catherine took off her one-strap bag and set it down in the hall near the door frame with a million and one thoughts racing through her skull.

_Did someone break into my apartment? Of course they did idiot. What were they after? Me or my things? I don't have nice things. Did they break down anyone else's door? _Her head turned and she glanced down the hall. _Nope. Why the door, the garden window would have been easier. Yeah, only if they were a stick thin punk. _A light blue stress ball rolled to her feet from the apartment, the worn thing bumping against her shoe. _Oh god they're still in there._

It could be the police some part of her tried to quell the fear away yet deep down she knew better, still her voice cracked out, "Hello?" This was a horror movie mistake to be sure and in just a few seconds a reply came barreling around the corner and out the door frame at her. Catherine had not the reaction time as she was all but thrown against the opposite door in the hall, her breath being knocked from her with the force she banged off it. The sound echoed down the hall and she hoped someone was still awake to hear it... and would actually do something about it. A pain shot through her shoulder, forearm, and knee as the thief held her against the door.

The male was large and meaty, "An' what we got here, you're past curfew lil' girl." Mister Meaty taunted in a thick cross between Gotham and Jersey accents. The man towered over her and had a vice like a cobra on steroids, he'd forced his knee between her legs as well. Catherine's heart was drumming in her ears again and she was trying to desperately gain her air back to scream bloody murder. Just as she parted her lips to yell he let go of her shoulder to clap a cotton gloved hand over her mouth; now that she noticed he was wearing a very lame cliche ski mask along with cheap winter gloves. The woman instead of crying out only to be muffled by the large hand struggled and banged an elbow against the door along with giving it a swift kick of her heel in a panic trying to recall if someone actually lived in that unit she was pressed against. The other hand he'd been holding her with left as he reached down and - she thought he was going to rape her at this point right in the hallway - he produced a pocket blade giving it a dramatic flick to open it in one smooth motion. The click it made had her attention as her watering blues looked over at the metal as it shone in the dank hallway light. The women felt utter helplessness, that she was so worthless no one would save her in this city, her life wasn't worth two cents in this place! If she'd stayed in Metropolis to become a journalist like her father wanted this wouldn't be happening like it was; even if it did happen, someone would have been brave and tackled the man to the floor in a sense of justice by now. Right? Catherine was quivering with tears brimming her dark eyes as the sinking thought of how this might be her last few moments alive and while she was frightened it was decided that she would go out with a fight if anything. The woman was about to slam her knee as hard as she could muster in their awkward position to hit him in the groin, yet, something unexpected happened. It was something Catherine would never forget.

The door to room three zero two opened up behind her. Mister Meaty had given up on actually holding her with his hands in exchange for her silence, the hand over her mouth, and to instill fear into her with that pocket knife. The only thing holding her there was that fear and his close proximity, as the door opened wide she felt herself tumbling backwards along with her legs going numb and giving out. Catherine stumbled over her feet and landed hard on her ass just catching herself with her hands from falling further into the room. The pain shot right through her spine, but she didn't yelp instead her face grimaced the tears were sent pouring down her cheeks in large drops that rolled off her jaw to drip onto her chest and carpet of the apartment. It all happened so fast for her even with the slow sensation when she fell, adrenaline had that effect on people. The woman tilted her head back and knew the tip of her nose was tinted red and there would be a flush in her cheeks - she always looked like an embarrassed Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer when she cried - her glasses had become askew but she could still see well enough. Someone did live in the unit after all, a man not particularly tall nor short, wearing dress khakis and an ugly mustard colored sweater vest over a white dress shirt, then she noticed he was looking down at her. His head wasn't tilted downwards but as if he were peering at something disgusting down his nose, an elegant eyebrow was arched in an inquisitive manner, however, and she felt like he had x-ray vision that would tear her down in an instant if he so chose to. Maybe she'd interrupted him in the middle of something important? _Fuck him_, her mind spat at her, _you were in serious trouble there_. She realized that she still could be as Mister Meaty spoke, "Hey, buddy..." he waved the knife around and it could not have been larger than a letter opener, "Back off or el-" Catherine winced when the man behind her took a single step forward over her body and hit the thief hard in the temple with a hefty looking hardback tome. Mister Meaty crumpled to the ground as the blade clattered to the floor, unconscious, and blood trickled from the side of his head. Catherine almost squeaked and scooted back to quickly move out of the way when the man fell over face first. Oh yes indeed she could still be in trouble.

Mister Three Zero Two made a clicking sound with his tongue as he shoved the other male away from his door with a sock covered foot. Furiously she wiped at the tears with the back of her hand and moved to get out of his way as he stepped back over her, "T-thank you." Catherine had tried and failed to not sound like she had been crying, it sounded weak, while her fingers fixed the glasses back into place upon her face.

Casually he continued to stand by the door, but had set the book down upon a stocky, square table that was shoved against the wall off to their side. And maybe it was childish to think so, she'd been expecting him to invite her in like a decent person, _there are no decent people in Gotham_, she thought bitterly just before he spoke, "Are you going to find out who that is?" Again she wasn't expecting his voice to sound so harsh and silky at the same time, he'd drawled out his words as if he was bored beyond comprehension at the same time annoyed to hell, fraining interest in this whole situation.

The woman blinked back the tears that kept finding ways to come back, _stupid over emotional female kind_, and curiously looked at the body. _Body... he's not dead yet is he? _Now that the edge of fear was taken away she finally really looked at him. That black ski cap turned mask with crude holes cut for eyes and a small opening for his mouth so that he could breath easier, nor was he dressed like a homeless man in tattered clothing actually wearing boot cut blue jeans, some worn-in white sneakers, and a brown jacket that looked like it was made of scratchy fabric. Catherine spied some chocolate brown hair peeking out from under the ski mask and the way it curled against the nape of his neck, those dark orbs narrowing at the man in general as she willed herself to crawl forward. Fingers twitching in hesitation as she reached out to grasp the top of the cotton ski mask, steeling her trembling hand, she gave it a rough tug pulling it from his face. Mister Meaty was now Mister Henderson... Andy Henderson.

"Do you know him? I suspect so, since he only broke into your apartment." She could have retorted that maybe her's had just been first on the list and perhaps because she wasn't home at the time either. However, her mouth went a bit dry and her lips pressed together in a thin line as she scowled at the unconscious Andy. The man was one of the linebackers for Gotham University and the best friend to James Thomson, everyone knew Andy had a thing for Cindy sense they were in high school, but she never gave him the time of day and instead dated the best friend. That bitch really knew how to rub it in another's face. What she couldn't get is why he'd be trashing her place, unless Cindy had asked him to do it - had the woman risen in the ranks from simple jell-o pranks to full on criminal activity? It wasn't too hard to believe. Again she wiped at a tear that cast itself down her cheek and unscrewed her narrowing eyes to put on those puppy eyes the female kind were remarkably known for before looking over her shoulder at the standing male again. Her lips parted just a bit and she sniffed unable to speak the lie she wanted to, just simply shaking her head no instead.

This man currently held the title of Life Savior in her mind whom was currently looking past her and the fallen man towards the door across from his own. She could tell his eyes were wandering over the splintering whilst another rational thought pasted her mind, _wouldn't he have heard that kind of racket? _A door being slammed was one thing but having it broken inwards busting the lock was a whole 'nother story; _how in the world did Andy even break it down? _The heat in her face told her that she was not done looking like a blushing moron from crying. That thumping in her heart started to return as Mister Three Zero Two was starting to look more and more like horror movie mistake number two, trusting your savior. Swallowing hard her body finally stood and she leaned against the frame of his open door, "I... I don't own a phone," she said sheepishly looking at her own ugly busted down door, "might I borrow yours and, well, call the cops?" She added as an afterthought, "And leave the office a message about... that." Her hand gestured at the damage. Little by little she could tell her voice was calming down as her words sounded less like a mouse squeaking and more like an adult woman handling a problem. _Normal people own phones, stupid, instead of buying Mister Plushy collectibles buy a damn land-line!_ Her brain riled.

He gave her a sidelong glance and ran a hand through his chestnut brown hair before making a motion to invite her in, "The land-line tends to drop calls." Meekly in a dry tone he stated as she walked around him and he shut his door.

The man had not been kidding about the connection the land-line had. It was awful! Catherine had dialed 911 instead of the casual line; didn't want Andy waking up before the police showed up, and had to reconnect with them twice after the first call while she gave the details to a woman on the other end. It had to have been the wiring in the building - probably been chewed upon by rats at some point. Mister Three Zero Two had gone and sat on his sofa with a leg crossed and that heavy book in his hands again, open, reading in silence. Whilst Catherine awkwardly stood near his cream yellow colored wall phone with her arms crossed in a defensive posture and all but jumped as a knock sounded off his door twenty minutes later. Andy had still been unconscious when they arrived, two men in blue uniforms looking especially bored along with two paramedics who pushed, lifted, and tugged the large meaty Henderson onto a stretcher. Checking his vitals in the hallway. She retold the events not in any great detail and gave her name, "Catherine Noir. N-O-I-R." Spelling it out for one of the men as they stared at her when she said the name. The partner had put cuffs on Andy after the paramedics gave the okay and started asking Mister Three Zero Two about what happened. The stretcher was rolled down the hall, then lifted by the two men and carried down the stairwell out of sight. She tried to listen through the questions being thrown at her by the copper catching a bit of his activities before the crime occurred. He claimed to be showering and assumed the noise was thunder... _it made sense_, she supposed. The biting, nagging, feeling chewed at her mind, however, than he was most likely lying. _Who wears dress working clothes after a shower? _She'd probably come up with a lie like that as well to avoid being asked why she didn't call the police in the first place. _Maybe he works at night?_ As the men in blue finished up with their prying questions and said their goodbyes, Catherine was overcome with sudden dread when she stood in the hallway before her apartment. She couldn't sleep in her apartment with the door missing and had no relatives that lived in Gotham; staying at a friends was also out of the picture because she'd been begrudging to make any since last year due to Cindy's antics. The Long's would be fast asleep at this time of night and she was sure they didn't have room in their home for her even if it was on the floor - she really just did not want to go back outside this late. No way in hell would she go walking around for a cheap motel either. Checking her thin wrist watch she confirmed it was only three minutes till midnight, "Fuck," the woman muttered it lowly looking at the floor. _Those puppy eyes better work magic_, "Excuse me..."

Midnight.

Such a stereotypical day in Gotham.

**And this marks the first of many revised chapters to come! I do not promise them to be quick updates, as I'll be moving sometime later this year. Reviews, however, are very motivational, inspiring, and help with writers block wither they are good or bad reviews. So leave your thoughts. - Aki**


	3. Chapter Two

**Disclaimer: I do not own Batman nor Detective Comics, Batman Begins, The Dark Knight, nor The Dark Knight Rises. This is a fan fiction and in no way represents the opinion or views of Warner Brothers, Paramount Studios, Detective Comics, or any other Batman related Media. I do not receive compensation for this work of fan fiction. I do claim rights to the my own character concepts and they have not been intentionally made to resemble other's characters.**

- The Sound Barrier -  
>- Chapter Two: Deplorable Demons -<p>

_"I despise, takers and the apathetic, cold-hearted _  
><em>under-educated, and unsympathetic. I despise, <em>  
><em>self-fulfilling egocentrics, self-rightious shallow-minded,<em>  
><em> ignorant and phallocentric." <em>  
><em>- I Despise, Chaotica<em>

While he detested social eateries there he sat in a college diner because it was where Jeremiah Arkham had wished to hold their meeting. The thought that the older man was scared to be alone in a room with Jonathan amused him, all he'd done is blackmail the man into handing over the asylum. Now that Amadeus Arkham was dead the building had legally gone to the next of kin, Jeremiah whom took a hardline and somewhat unorthodox approach to his patients. He believed that a person's state of mind was immaterial when contrasted against their actions. Thinking about murdering someone was not nearly as interesting to him as the actual act of committing murder. To correct these psychological aberrations, Arkham often utilized aversion therapy with his patients. Jonathan didn't necessarily disagree with these methods, he wanted Arkham, however, for his own goals. He knew Jeremiah would keep the land and continue to essentially be the one in charge over things like renovations but would leave Crane in a position of control over patients and staff along with other financial budgets. This meeting wasn't a negotiations but in fact a signing, he had all the proper documentation at the ready in his briefcase.

Casually he pushed up the sleeve of his blazer with one hand to check the time upon his brown leather watch and leaned back in the booth. He'd been seated at the end of the row but still had a view of the outside world due to the large glass panels that covered the front face of the building. He tapped his spindly fingers in annoyance upon the red table top before a noise caught his attention, the light blue hues drifting upwards from his watch to look at the commotion. A woman was standing up with a bowl of wiggly red jell-o squares sliding off her head to the floor, the contents of the bowl all over her head and dripping downwards. She looked highly uncomfortable before storming off; his eyes continued to follow her outside as she started chasing another young woman down the street. It reminded him of his own college life suddenly, not that he'd ever had food tossed on his head and then chased someone down a sidewalk, but of how foolish many of the youth in this city could be... not that he wasn't still considered young himself. The door to the diner gave a jingle and he looked up to see Jeremiah step inside before approaching a waitress and she pointed at Jonathan.

The older male was taller than Jonathan by a few inches, putting him just nigh around six feet in height. His fashionable short hair showed signs of dramatic peppering while wrinkles were forming around his forehead and eyes, making him look several years older than he actually was. Just from looking at Jeremiah, Jonathan could tell he was worried at that particular moment, inner turmoil, as his hands kept fidgeting - adjusting their hold on his own briefcase and reaching up to stretch at the back of his neck subconsciously. The man made it to the back and stood near the table, looking at Jonathan only for a few milliseconds until their eyes made contact and he looked out the window instead. Meekly Jonathan rose an eyebrow at the man, keeping his hands upon the edge of the table, with his spindly fingers now laced together and after a several moments he spoke, "I do not have all day, Doctor Arkham." He noted the other male visible flinched. Jonathan knew far too well what his stare could do to others, how his cold demeanor and no-nonsense voice affected most people. Another several moments more passed between them and he gave a cough in his throat trying to prompt the other male.

This gained Jeremiah's attention and he looked hard at Jonathan as if it were really the first time he'd noticed him sitting there.

Quietly the older man sat in the booth on the opposite side. Placing his briefcase upon the red table top and his hands folded on top of the leather surface; they continued in their silence. Clinking metal utensils, orders being called out from a waitress to cooks, and general chatter served to fill the void between them. Finally, however, he watched Jeremiah's chest puff out as he in-took air then sighed out, "Crane."

"Doctor." Jonathan had interrupted in a dead tone.

Jeremiah had leaned a bit forward with one elbow in the table, his hand pointing at Crane, "Jonathan," he liked Crane better, the use of his first name was far too friendly for his liking; the older male seemed a bit livid now, however, so he did not cut him off to correct the mistake again, "you can't do this to me! I will not allow you to take a hold of the asylum to carry out your own sick agenda." The older man had speculations about Jonathan's extra activities at the asylum, but could not produce any proof to his theories.

"Lower your voice Doctor Arkham," he, himself, would continue to use social politeness even if Jeremiah did not, "I can, I have, and I will. You only have two choices Doctor Arkham. Sign the paperwork today or I will have you legally removed for ill-practice along with your medical practitioners licenses permanently revoked." His voice had come out smooth and unsympathetic, unwavering in his decision and actions by Arkham's desperate state. Jeremiah was still seething in his seat, his knuckles hand gone stark white as they death gripped each other and he was huffing - puffing out his chest - all clear signs of agitation. Nevertheless, Jonathan looked the male dead in his livid eyes and he saw defeated thoughts stirring just below the angry surface.

He'd Won.

That afternoon had been a very boring process of paperwork at the courts. Legalizing and finalizing his semi-take over of Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane. He'd taken this particular day off from his normal occupational job to attend specifically to this matter; thus around five in the afternoon the man was home bound. He owned his own vehicle; a small Toyota that was rusting near the bottom edges and had a latch problem with the trunk, yet it was vastly better than being sardine with the scum of Gotham in public transports. For the entirety of the evening Jonathan worked tirelessly on his personal research, feeling quite like the classical notion of a child in a candy shoppe; he had never actually experienced this but could imagine it felt like what he was experiencing now. Euphoria would be a close second description. His mind was almost faster than his spindly fingers could keep up in their scribbling, the pages of his note books filling with ink. The man even used up all the black ink in one of his newer ballpoint pens. Furiously he wrote the thoughts down until he could no longer; not without physical lab results anyways, and settled to reread up on the chemical reactions typical to the human brain in the response to _Fight or Flight_.

Hours passed and he hardly noticed. Minutes ticked on and with each one he was only growing impatient that the sun had not risen so he could go in to work. Jonathan had become so engrossed in what he was doing and thinking that the loud bang somewhere outside his apartment door went practically unnoticed, besides it was Gotham, what fool would want to investigate at the risk of their own mortality? Easily he continued to read and absorb the knowledge; every turn of a page was photographically remembered and stored away for later reference. Not long after, however, that the first bang sounded off, another bang pounded once against his own door. He would have ignored it as well if not for the fact that it shook his wall causing his land-line to fall off the hook. It started to make an awful static dialing tone soon followed by the irritating, high-pitched, beep, "Please hang up and dial again... Please hang up and dial again... Please hang u-" He plucked it from the ground and placed it back upon the hook.

Curiously another series of thuds pounded against his door; one high and the other low. His brow furrowed. Was someone seriously kicking at his apartment door? Jonathan could tell his usually stoic face twisted into one of annoyance as he glared at the source of the noise before throwing it open with a sharp turn of the knob. Some where in the back of his mind thinking that he must have forgotten to lock the door when he came home. He blinked, caught off guard as a person came tumbling in, falling ungracefully to the floor. A woman he noticed quickly, the same one from the diner earlier that day, "Hey buddy..." his gaze lifted off the tearing female to another person, a man - he assumed - wearing a ski mask flashing a knife around like the common home invasion thug, "Back off or el-" Jonathan had registered the situation long before he stepped over the woman. It was all _his_ fault Jonathan had been interrupted during his research. It was this lowly cretin, scum of Gotham, maggots fault! His anger flashed as he struck the male across the head with his psychology tome. It was uncharacteristic of him to become so violent; not that he never did, but Jonathan stepped back a little bewildered with the force he'd used. Mostly because he really did not want to deal with self-defensive murder charges just after gaining Arkham for himself. Careful not to get blood on his sock from the wound he'd inflicted the man pushed the body away from his door to let the next poor soul to wander on the third floor deal with it.

"T-thank you." Jonathan almost forgot there was a blubbering female on the ground near him, it appeared he would have to deal with this after all...

The book in his hand weighed more that it should have and he placed it down on the wooden nightstand near the front door, "Are you going to find out who that is?" He really did not care whom he had struck over the head and ran a hand through his brown hair while his tongue habitually licked at his lower lip before they formed a tight line. Once again he peered down at the woman. Now that he was closer, instead of gazing through a window down the street at an infuriated female, Jonathan could assume her age to be over twenty with ease yet perhaps not older than himself, as he were to turn thirty next year. It was hard to determine the age of the female kind based solely upon their looks in these modern days with the innovation of make-up products, anti-aging creams, and even surgical modifications to ones own body becoming popular. Jonathan was brought up on the notion that make-up was a sin, vanity of course being the root of that. Old memories wheeled into his fore-mind without his permission.

_It was a time during freshman year of high school, the humid southern heat pouring over his scrawny body making his hair stick to his face with sweat. He'd found a purse laying beside the road. No name, no address, nor wallet of its owner. Inside were female products for that time of the month, lips sticks, a compact mirror with facial powder, and other objects he really wasn't familiar with at the time. The young man had taken the compact mirror and powder, gingerly applying it to his face to cover a nasty shiner under his eye. He'd received another brilliant purple bruise upon his cheek in the shape of a cane's round head from Granny Keeny later that evening for sinning._

Jonathan had learned to just let these memories take their course, dwelling about them would only drag them out further. As soon as the memory passed and was pushed back into the darkest pit of his mind, it was as if the flash back had never happened. He was still peering down at the woman and her fingers had pulled the ski mask from the mans head. He took note that her body posture changed to one of shock and while he could not see her face, Jonathan knew there was at least an inkling of recognition by her reaction, "Do you know him? I suspect so, since he only broke into your apartment." He was implying that she knew him, obviously, but also that he knew she knew. Nevertheless, as expected, she turned and shook her head no, lying to him. Not that Jonathan cared that she did; they were strangers to each other after all. Instead he examined the damage done to her door and lock, letting his gaze just wander for the moment. The loud noise he'd heard earlier was most certainly the breaking and entering of this common home invasion thug - Crane found himself actually wondering how this feat had been accomplished through brute force.

While Jonathan was studying her broken door she stood, he'd caught the movement from the corner of his vision, and leaned against his door frame, "I... I don't own a phone," she spoke with a timid demeanor, "might I borrow yours and, well, call the cops?" Speaking once again, before he could reply, with an afterthought most likely, "And leave the office a message about... that." Her hand gesturing at the damage.

The more the woman spoke the less her voice sounded like a frightened five year old; deep in his own darkness he was sad to hear the quivering voice gaining strength again, ( for she sounded much better stuttering in fear to him, ) and he gave her a sidelong glance, running a hand through his chestnut brown hair before making a motion to invite her in, "The land-line tends to drop calls." Meekly, in a dry tone, he stated to inform the woman. It was too late for him to say _No_, she would have knocked on someone else's door and asked to use their phone to call the police. In either situation Jonathan would be questioned. It would be simpler to involve less people.

Jonathan had pointed to the phone upon the wall while he took up the book from the nightstand next to the front door. The woman didn't hesitate to pluck it from the wall, fumbling with it for a moment and pressing the three buttons for 911 then held it up to her ear. Quietly he sat back upon his sofa, one leg crossing over the other in a habit to make himself comfortable and leaned his back against the furniture. His thumb and forefinger turning the pages of the psychology tome until he located the page he'd left off, blinking twice he continued reading. Her voice was shut out as if one had dunked their head under water - all noise of the outside world became muffled - nevertheless, when she got frustrated after the line disconnected the second time he could distinctly here low muttering resembling a lue of curses. Jonathan had to admit it was distracting him from his reading. And he made sure to give her a pointed look over his shoulder when he heard her redialing the number.

Time was not a notion to him while he read, her silence after the calls were finished allowed him to slip right back into effortlessly reading passage after passage. Even the knock upon his door a little while later did not phase him; he only shut the book and placed it away when the woman opened his door to greet whomever had knocked. Collecting his thoughts he went into the hall reluctantly, while he did not want to be interrupted nor involved anymore it was just simply too late. Jonathan stood off to the side of his apartment door after closing it, closely watching as two of Gotham General Hospital's paramedics looked over the body of the unconscious male. After rolling him ungracefully onto a stretcher they took vitals with clunky machines that probably ran on four - if not eight - double D batteries, "Sir?" A male with a GCPD rain jacket spoke to Jonathan - it was actually the second time he'd asked, but Jonathan had not noticed.

"Yes." He replied back with a monotone pulling his eyes away from the scene. He was refusing to believe it, but the crash of his euphoria high and lack of sleep was weighing on him a bit more than he would have liked.

"I need to get your name and statement."

Actually he did not need to give out either of these things and could have blatantly refused, however, that would lead him down a more rocky path to deal with, "Doctor Jonathan Crane."

"Right, Mister Crane," His jaw set in annoyance, had he not just given his formal title to the man? Jonathan was too tired to try and make an argument out of social courteous in his apartment hallway at nigh midnight and tempt fate with a _disorderly conduct _or _failure to cooperate _charge; half the cops in this city were trying to make arrests on charges they fully did not understand to make a name for themselves, "Around what time would you say you came home?"

"Six in the afternoon." Traffic had been horrible. A fleeting thought passed wondering if the cop knew he'd been out at all that day, or did he just assume that Jonathan worked during the days.

A note was made, "And did you hear anything strange between six and before the conflict?"

"No." Of course he had, the whole floor must have if not the one below them as well.

"Nothing at all?" The man did not looked impressed, "The door across from your apartment was broken down and you heard nothing?"

Jonathan had to get the officer that was nosy, "While I was in the shower there was a loud noise, however at the time, I had thought it to be thunder from the storm." His expression was kept completely blank while he lied with a silver tongue and as if the universe were on his side a low rumble came from outside before a flash of lightning and a thunderous bang.

"I see," the man seemed a bit shaken by the stormy event yet steeled himself to continue with his job, "can you retell the events of the conflict up until the phone call was made?"

That same apathetic and informational tone of his came out, his words drawling somewhat as he spoke, "Several loud thuds came from my apartment's front door, when I went to investigate who could be at this hour I was met with the situation between my neighbor and the thief," Jonathan wouldn't go into any great detail about what had happened because that information was not needed, "I was threatened by the man with a pocket knife and took action to defend myself."

"Uh-huh, well thank you Mister Crane the department will call you if they have any further questions," The officer turned and tucked the notebook away, "Johnson." He gave his partner a shrug and look that was asking if he was finished getting the woman's side of the events. Crane knew he'd never get a phone call as the two men stalked off talking about hitting up the local Hooters.

A good hour of his life was gone, wasted on someone else's troubles. Silently Jonathan opened his door and started to walk back inside, "Excuse me..." Miss Noir's voice called from just a few feet away from himself; he'd heard her spell out the French surname to the officer. However, Jonathan was unable to catch the woman's first name, "... I'd hate to impose, but, I... have nowhere to stay until morning."

The man was half-way tempted to tell her to go sleep in the rain under a dumpster out back, he wanted to tell her that where she slept until dawn was none of his concern. Jonathan Crane was immune to _Puppy Dog Eyes_. Yet with a sleepy sigh he continued into his apartment and left the door open for her. A part of him was curious, which almost disgusted him that he was curious about another lowly human being; of the female species no-less. It was because Jonathan had never observed another person after such a distressing situation. One that he hadn't caused at least.

_Blonde hair, green eyes, and a winning smile. One that could melt frozen hearts and quell men into doing anything for the woman. Crane's second year of college he'd met this vixen, yet, what she didn't realize is that his heart had been dead for years. His cold demeanor wasn't from a high school break up nor from a loss of a loved one; Jonathan Crane did not love people. Julie, however, thought she could fix him. He'd entertained her notion that she could love him by going on dates and awkwardly kissing her on the cheek when parting afterwards. All the while this was another experiment for him, how long would it take to make her break? Three months had been the answer. She'd asked for his honest opinion about her, to be truthful even if it hurt, and he had been. Julie Crossfield ended up slapping him across the face when he wasn't even half-way finished and that angry streak of his had forced her against the back of the library's brick wall. The man all but tore apart her mind and left her whimpering on the cold ground, never to see or hear from her again._

Crane found himself in his kitchen with one hand leaning on the counter and the other pinching the bridge of his nose, the warming scent of spiced tea brewing. A soft squeaking noise came from his living room sofa, meaning weight was being put upon the metal coils inside. His gaze dropped to the kettle on the tiny two burner stove, the water had already become hot as there were three bags of cheap tea steeping inside and the stove was off. Jonathan didn't remember even taking the kettle from its place in the lower cabinet let alone waiting around for the water to boil; an irritated sigh passed his lips as he accepted the fact that he was beyond tired.

The man would wait a bit longer, guessing on how much time had passed with the tea sitting in the pot before pouring two mugs and throwing out the used bags. His fingers laced around the handles of the plain white mugs not bothered that they were hot against his hands; Jonathan found it a bit relieving to his icy fingers, and he walked out into the living room. As he rounded the couch to set a mug down for her upon the dinky coffee table he noted that she'd brought the book bag from the hallway with two hard backs sitting out, one open and a composition between her hands, "Oh... uh," he'd caught her off guard causing the woman to flinch and a stupid, yet nervous looking smile broke out across her face, "Thank you," Noir reached across the space after placing the note book upon the coffee table and took the mug in both her hands whilst Jonathan sat in a lone chair instead of next to her, "If-if this is a bother let me know." She sipped on the tea while studying the books then to him. Her face twitched and he could tell the woman was trying to swallow the hot liquid without spitting it back rudely.

Jonathan crossed one leg over the other and rested the bottom of the mug in his free hand as if it were a tea cup saucer, "You're quiet alright." He gave in affirmation blowing gently at the rim of the mug while taking a drink of his own pipping hot tea. Gazing from over the mug she seemed rather clam, perhaps the whole situation had not effected her yet. He did recall that she was crying pathetically and her face red as a fire engine not long ago; her nose was still pink on the end and her eyes were slightly red rimmed, puffy a bit too. Noir did not, however, tremble nor shake even if she stuttered. Any movement he made gained her attention after her eyes went back to her books, moving the mug from his lips or the bouncing of his foot in thought, Jonathan even tried switching which leg was crossed over the other, setting the tea upon the coffee table, and lacing his fingers together upon his lap. Each time her eyes darted to the corner or upwards too look at him and her chest would hitch in breathing normally. Miss Noir was most certainly on the defensive, "Will you be alright?" His voice came out of the blue and this time she physically jumped almost knocking the tea off the table. Jonathan suppressed a smug smile and plastered a well practiced look of concern he'd often use in public.

"Fu..." She'd hissed before her chest hitched again whilst her lips pursed together as she caught herself, most likely about to swear in front of him. Breathing out she gave him an almost pointed look like she thought he'd done it on purpose - he had, "I'll be just dandy, Mister Three Zero Two," She'd turned snarky ( a typical self defense tactic ) whilst making sure none of the tea had spilled and retrieving a pen that had fallen from her hand, "in fact I believe I might be able to power through the rest of the night and have this finished with that jolt of new adrenaline. Thank you."

Jonathan's head gave a slight tilt in confusion. And he voiced this confusion, "Mister Three Zero Two?" He had realized that they had not formally introduced themselves.

"Em... Yes. As I don't know your name, nor I think you'd know mine. Mister Three Zero Two seemed appropriate," the woman looked down and recapped the pen then uncapped it before adding sheepishly, "It's your apartment number."

While that was probably the stupidest thing he'd heard all week he actually gave a tired, dry, laugh, "Very well... Miss Three Zero Four," he'd humor it for now. The spiced tea had spread a warmth through his body which was now demanding he fall into his bed for the next few hours before it was time to start this new day as director of the asylum. Jonathan stood, taking his mug with him, "I'll be leaving," he checked the watch upon his wrist, "in about five hours for work."

"Yeah, no worries," she recapped the pen's lid on the backside to continue writing, "Sam's diner is open around the same time, I'll leave whenever you do," Not that he would have allowed her to stay in the first place, "Thanks again, really... I," she choked on the words and he noticed her face growing redder as those dark blue eyes became glossed with water, "it means a lot to know someone cares in this city." Jonathan could have been the harbinger of bad news and dashed her hopes in that very moment; he didn't care about her well being in the least nor had he indented to save the woman from her situation in the first place. Yet he meekly gave a sleepy nod and left the room.

After a quick trip to his kitchen sink the man curled on top of his covers, not bothering to take off his clothes, utterly exhausted. Jonathan Crane fell into the deep darkness of sleep that swarmed his vision after closing his eyes, feeling his body grow almost numb but light at the same time.

_A tisket, a tasket, the scarecrow's still in his casket._

Blazing light blue eyes shot open as a childhood memory faded from his mind, "_Jonny-Rake's a Scarecrow!"_ Classmate brats had chanted while they threw rocks at him in middle school. Jonathan sat up, breathing heavily as sweat beaded upon his skin. It had been years since he had a nightmare that woke him with such a start. Running a hand through his hair his other groped blindly in the dark for his watch, taking him few moments to remember he'd never taken it off. He squinted at the hands upon the clock in the light filtering in from street lamps, four twenty seven. Stifling a yawn Jonathan rolled his shoulders and got out of the bed then less than gracefully walked over to the closet in search of clean clothes.

Jonathan knew he had slept, even so as he stuck a tooth brush in his mouth he stared at the dark circles forming under his eyes in the bathroom mirror. Wrinkling his nose and squinting his eyes he finally opened the mirror with a push to release the magnetic clasp. His free hand swiped up a small orange bottle - little pills rattled around inside - which he set upon the edge of the sink and went back to snag a small tube of concealer. _Vanity is a sin._ It hissed in his skull. The man closed the mirror and spit in the sink, placing the tooth brush away and cupping his hand under the faucet for some tap water to swish out the rest of the foamy paste from his mouth. Jonathan popped the cap of the pill bottle pouring out two and took them with another swig of tap water, he placed it back off to the side replacing in his hand the tube of creamy concealer, "Just stay dead you old crone." The man muttered under his breath as he gave it a squeeze, applying it to the under portion of his eyes and blending it until his dark circles were hardly noticeable. He didn't need to look like the living dead on this special new chapter of his life, rumors would spread like wildfire that he couldn't handle the responsibility. Jonathan knew Jeremiah would grasp at any excuse to have a board meeting to remove Crane from the directors position at Arkham. He could only blackmail so many people at one given time and the thought of trying to bribe every doctor was unappealing. He gave the mirror one last push to place the items back, more like shoving them back at random, before he turned off the light with a flick of the switch.

The living room light was on, despite that, he did not hear any noise coming from where he'd left the woman last night. The apartment was so silent that the faint buzz of the electrical wiring could be heard. Along with his footfalls every time he took a step upon the soft tan carpet; he padded his way over into the kitchen putting on a kettle of water for instant coffee and found an apple to nibble on stored away in the refrigerator. Jonathan moved from the kitchen to the living room, curious that he didn't see Noir sitting upon his sofa. He slowly rounded the piece of furniture and brought a hand to his mouth, an honest laugh trying to escape his lips. He gave a strangled kind of snort instead. The woman appeared ridiculous to him having fallen asleep at some point and rolled from the sofa onto the floor. Brown locks were spread out in a halo around her head covering parts of her face in chunks, her lips parted in a soft snore. She was clutching onto her notebook as if it were some stuffed toy to cuddle in the night with one arm while the other was above her head and stretched out, a pen lazily dangling between her fingers. One leg had pushed his coffee table somewhat to an angle while the other still draped over his couch, he noticed she wore brightly purple colored ankle socks and that her shoes were seated neatly to the side of the sofa; her glasses folded up on top of them. Jonathan had not taken her for such a... restless sleeper. _A result of previous events perhaps_. Nevertheless, the woman seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

He wondered how he should wake her or if the kettle's whistle would do it for him if he waited. The man opted for trying the kettle. Going back into the kitchen he ate the apple down to the core throwing the last bit of the fruit in the trash then taking out a container of black, instant coffee powder. Jonathan allowed the kettle to whistle loudly for longer than necessary, taking it off the heat when he heard a thud from the living room and an angry, "Fuck!" A small smirk tugged at his lips, pulling at the corners as he poured the hot water into two clean mugs that had the instant coffee added to them. He assumed she drank coffee - or at least would be polite enough to drink it like she had been with the scalding hot tea. Presumably it was a habit ingrained into him, at least he thought so, to be an upstanding citizen during the early portions of uncontrolled human experiments. ( Uncontrolled being that he hadn't locked them in a room, unable to escape. ) Jonathan would work his way into the mind of the subject and they would lower their guard in turn, allowing him to twist their views verbally causing them to question their own sanity or simply, as he had on two other occasions, instill such paralyzing fear of reality that they committed suicide. _Did he consider Miss Noir a subject now?_

No.

This occasion was a one time deal where he got to observe her immediate after reaction of being assaulted and saved by himself. The woman had been apprehensive towards him possibly feeling that he too might take advantage of her and over the course of the night visible eased into a jumpy comfort; he would have liked to observe when she became comfortable enough to slumber so at peace with her surroundings, yet, beggars could not always be choosers. This particular woman, Noir, had shown him that the state of hysteria after such a conflict could be well managed. Be that as it may this example was merely just that, an example of one persons reaction. _Perhaps I should be saving young damsel's in distress more often_. Jonathan let out a disgruntled snort to his own thought.

The man moved back into the living room and set the mug down upon the coffee table in front of her, a part of her hair was sticking up at an odd angle and she was rubbing the sleep from her eyes, "Mm... didn't mean to fall'sleep, mornin'." One could tell her accent was thick with a typical north-eastern states tone, but it wasn't necessarily from Gotham. The woman let out a yawn covering her mouth with the back of her hand - her sleepless eyes watering a bit from the action - while her other hand pawed around for her glasses. Apparently Miss Noir was not a morning person; nor particularly over-traumatized by earlier events. She'd taken the mug in both her hands, holding it close to her mouth, sniffled, then drank. Her pink lips pulled downwards in a frown but she continued to drink the coffee.

"Yes, good morning, I see you slept rather well." That was the correct thing to say in this situation, right? After college he'd never had another person stay a night, the only other times had been subjects and Julie whom had tried to fix him. The man was not _slumber parties R-us. _Jonathan gingerly sipped at his own coffee the bitter black not unpleasant to him and he sat in the lone chair across from the sofa.

"So it'd seem..." Noir gave him a suspicious once over and checked the time upon a wrist watch of her own, "... almost five thirty," she took another large gulp of the coffee still staring at the hands of her clock tick by, "Mm..." some kind of unintelligent noise rose from her throat while she took another drink from the coffee, "... This is, actually really disgusting," The frown upon her face tugged to raise into a semi-smile and she downed what was left in the mug before setting it back upon the table, "but thank you, needed the caffeine." As the morning grogginess faded from her so too faded the heavier accent.

Jonathan simply nodded his head not pressed to engage in any other kind of civil conversation with her. Noir was equally as silent while she stuffed her books away into the bag and slipped her feet into the shoes by the couch side. The woman waited several moments before taking both the mugs she'd left out in the living room to his kitchen and then popped back out whilst running hand over her messy hair. Probably seeing her disheveled reflection in something for her cheeks were tinted pink along with the tip of her nose, "Again, thanks for the save an' sleep over, I'll be getting out of your hair now," she was moving to his front door walking backwards to face him as she spoke, "... uh. Hav' a good day at your job." Noir gave a small wave before turning around and walking face first into his apartment door. Startled she jumped back grumbling before making a hasty exit.

Jonathan caught himself shaking his head in disapproval while letting out a sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and then it hit him, _have a good day at your job_, a honest grin broke out across his face. Starting today he was Doctor Jonathan Crane, Director of Elizabeth Arkham Asylum... It was indeed going to be a good day.

**Yay, revision for chapter two... which had nothing to do with the original chapter two... is up earlier than I thought it would be. I assumed my down time away from home would make me lazy and not write, I was very wrong.**

**If anyone's confused about the timeline I'm laying down and going with lets break that down now. First off in Nolan Verse Jonathan Crane was supposedly thirty two during the events of Batman Begins thus that means this is roughly two years before those events. Second, while Nolan Verse does not necessarily give a whole lot to work with for Crane's background I've decided to use a mix of primarily New Earth and 52, along with other comics if needed. Any gaps that are not in the comics nor covered by some kind of already made history about Jonathan Crane will be filled in, if required by the story, from my creative noggin. ( Hopefully I'm keeping him as cannon as possible within all these elements. )**

**Once again, I do not promise these revisions to be quick updates like this one was. Reviews, however, are very motivational, inspiring, and help with writers block wither they are good or bad reviews. So leave your thoughts. - Aki**


End file.
